


Gratitude

by goodgirlwhoshopeful



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Periods, Time of the Month, because I wonder all the time how they managed, romelza - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5443760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodgirlwhoshopeful/pseuds/goodgirlwhoshopeful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demelza suffers with a particular bad batch of menstrual cramps... Ross to the rescue. </p>
<p>(Because... this drought is killing me)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gratitude

**Author's Note:**

> In hommage to every woman alive before the invention of painkillers. I am in awe of you.

A ladies' flux - known also as courses or her monthly – there were many words for it – was something that was not discussed outside the privacy of concealed woman-to-woman conversation... And even then, genteel ladies, so Demelza had heard, never spoke of it even then. 

So, when her monthly cycle began not long after she began her new life at Nampara, she had to rely on the, somewhat frosty, advice of Prudie. "It be as it be," she'd grumbled, passing her cloth, instructing her begrudgingly how to use it to soak up her body's fluids. 

She had been content at first, though slightly bewildered at the idea that she was now, officially, a woman. Never had she considered herself so, but with her increased worth in the eyes of Captain Poldark, and her biology changing, she felt her inner power begin to build. Now, she knew who she should be. 

As her relationship grew with Ross, however, she wished she could discuss it with him. How it bothered her some months more than others. How, sometimes, the pain woke her before dawn with the gnawing ache deep in her loins. 

One sharp, cold autumn morning at Nampara, the urge to confine in her husband hit her again and it ached in her mind almost like the ache in her abdomen. That day, she went about her daily chores attempting to ignore the ache lingered in her gut and her lower back. While attempting to mend the button that Ross had, yet again, managed to lose from the cuff of one of his shirts, she found her hand, without her noticing, had begun kneading her lower back with stubborn knuckles. Huffing, she put her sewing down in her lap and relaxed against the chair. Focus was a hopeless feat to aim for with such discomfort. 

"Demelza!" 

She rose her head to find her husband at the entrance of the drawing room, his tone pleased, placing down his tricorn and overcoat in a manner of a man satisfied with his days work. She instantly dropped her hand and fixed a smile on her face, though near continuous grimaces almost slipped through. 

"Ross. How goes it down at Leisure?"

She watched her husband gracefully move through the room toward her, barely limping at all. (She noted he only did so these days when at his most tired or upset). She almost envied the ease at which he moved, since she could barely curtsy, yet he made all his movements seem like a sort of dance, as though each foot he placed had been forethought and executed with a smoothness she could not fathom... An' all that with a ailin' ankle, too, she thought with mirth. 

"All is much the same." Once at her side, he lowered his face and pressed an urgent kiss to her mouth. Tilting her face to him, she accepted it willingly without hesitation, but found the ache in her abdomen screamed far too loud. Before she could kiss him back, he had moved away. Within an instant of his drawing back to regard her face, she could see he saw through her facade. He frowned in the way that made deep trenches appear above his brows, lifting his large thumb to smooth over where her eyes were pinched at the corners. 

Before he could ask, however, she smoothed a thumb over the back of his large hand and stood to her full height. 

"And how is my fair maiden?" The smile on his face did not settle as comfortably as it had a moment before, but it was intended clearly to make her smile too.

"Well," she assured with a squeeze to his hand. "Attemptin' this 'ere stubborn button of 'ee waistcoat." She lifted it in her hand before lowering it to hold it almost naturally against her chest. Secretly, she adored to feel and hold his clothing; his scent lingered and she felt close to him, even when he was away.

Ross regarded his young wife's posture and felt the familiar and somewhat frightening swell of pride and possessiveness in his chest, making it somewhat hard to breathe. He knew his grin must be futile, but he didn't care. All he felt was gratitude. 

Demelza felt triumphant in her ability to mask her discomfort, as she had often thought herself an open book, and was all but ready to congratulate herself for saving her husband the shame of such a conversation... That is, until a roll of nauseating dull pain throbbed louder than before, suddenly so strong that she felt unsteady on her feet. Ross' soft regard of his wife instantly shifted to wide-eyed concern. 

"Woah––steady!" At the sudden firm hold of his large hands on her hips, Demelza faltered; the heat of his skin even through the cloth of her dress such a welcome relief a whimper escaped her lips.

"S'nothin', Ross. I--"

"Demelza," he cut her off in dismissal. "Please do not hide your troubles from me."

She shook her head and was close to denial, but as he continued to touch her, her resolve wained. She succumbed to his embrace and lay her head against his solid chest was a exhausted sigh, that was almost a sob. The sound set Ross' nerves alight, because there was nothing he hated more than Demelza in tears. He knew instantly to dread carefully, his tone resembling that of a stablehand husking to a startled mare.  

"My love, what is it?"

Against his waistcoat, she clenched her features has her skin flushed in shame. "I... I cahn't say, Ross... S'not...right to say––"

"–– _Right_?" He felt the uncomfortable sensation of bewilderment bubble inside him, making his palms itch. "Demelza, what is right is for you to share your deepest, darkest secrets with me...and I likewise with you. You are my wife... Please, Demelza. Talk to me."

Demelza ignored his pleas, despite her better nature; the idea of speaking of such a subject simply to mortifying. Instead, she found herself stepping out of his hold and toward the door, sniffing violently as she went. He called out her name after her, first somewhat meekly, in confusion, then again, this time asserting his most boring, dominate tone. It was a tone that would cause weak souls to tremble and submit (and, by God, she almost did)... but, if there was one thing Demelza was, it was _strong_. 

Ross' beseeched tone turned to one of hurt, higher in octave than usual. "Demelza!"

"––Ross!  _I said n_ _o!"_

The words came out of her mouth as an aggressive bark, causing guilt to trickle like icy water down her neck. She felt his urgency hit her in the chest as her lower lip trembled, all the while waves of discomfort seemed to suddenly become louder amongst the tension in the room. Her hand found its way to dig deep into her abdomen just above her hipbone, where, deep beneath the flesh visible to her, her uterus contracted aggressively. She had intended to walk away from him, putting the subject to bed for good, but she swayed against the oak doorframe... putting her plan down the well. 

Before she could fall, her trusted husband's strong hands were at her hips. ( _God_ , how she  _thrilled_  she was bythe touch ofhis hands...).

"Demelza, for  _God's_ sake!" His tone of his words twisted in his stomach in their aggression, but the tension in them stemmed simply from concern and frustration. He observed the way she leant on him for support and whimpered under his hands and frowned. She was massaging her abdomen, obviously in pain. Instantly, he felt a cold sweat settle on the back of his neck. Quickly, her took her weight upon him and sank to the floor onto the rug by the fire, holding her against his chest just underneath her breast, her head against his collarbone. "My love, where does it hurt? I'll call Jinny to fetch Dwight–– _Jinny!"_  he hollered. 

"No, no!" she whimpered, pulling his head toward her with a desperate hand. "I will be alright in a moment, Ross. Tis' nothin'! D'n't bother Dwight, honest!––"

Confused, he went to dismiss her denials, but something in her panicked eyes stopped him. 

_I cannot have Dwight call just for months womanly ailments!_ she cried to herself. _Tis ridiculous!_ Biting the bullet, Demelza knew she would simply have to say it.

"Ross, it's my...flux," she murmured into his ear, hiding her wincing face in his neck, her cheeks hot with shame. Ross frowned, not comprehending her words. "Tis mother nature... Tis just...womanly aches. That be all."

With a gasp of realisation, Ross felt his cheeks warm and his form squirm uncomfortably against his will. Within him, he was conflicted: Gentleman were not supposed to confer on such things to women, or their mothers...and with their wives – though he had never been married before so therefore could not know for sure – equally little seemed to be communicated, outside of what was necessary for the creation of children. For that reason, he felt a rightening in his chest and an awkwardness at the subject. However, since Ross liked to think of himself as anything but conventional, despite his upbringing, he suddenly felt a resentment for this narrow-thinking. Poor women had to deal with so much...and gave their husbands children... and yet could not even talk of all the trials the came along with womanhood... How did that seem fair?

"Ross?" she whimpered against him, her body tense with shame as she waited out his silence. What was he thinking?

He tucked in his chin to look down at her. Catching her eye, he is struck quiet simply by the worry in them. She was  _ashamed._ _Ashamed_ of biological courses she could not control... The idea was suddenly utterly _absurd_. 

In that moment, Ginny appeared in the doorway, surprisingly unsurprised a the sight of her Master and Mistress sat on the parlour floor. 

"Sur?" 

Swallowing, Ross gave her his most reassuring smile. "It's alright, Jinny. Carry on. Could you prepare a bath, please?"

"Ross?" Demelza questioned as she left, lifting her face from its hiding place. 

"I understand now, my love." Suddenly, he couldn't stop smiling, laughing at the idiocy of it all. "Why did you not just  _tell_ me?"

Demelza looked down into her lap and with a flush. "Tis not...what a lady would do."

Ross shook his head before feverishly pressing a loving kiss to her head, letting his fingers curl into her loose curls. "As ridiculous as that may be, you are not wrong." In the silence that followed, he watched as his young wife tried not to squirm or knead her knuckles into her abdomen, as she had been doing minutes before. Biting her lip, she was clearly attempting to curb her distress. "It must really be ailing you," he murmured sympathetically. "I have never seen you not able to power through it in this way."

Demelza shrugged, and for a moment, Ross found himself distracted by the delicate nature of her slime frame. "'ve been tryin' to not let it beat me down... but today it be unlike any other month before..."

"Well, anything that involves your discomfort, I would like to hear of in future, ladylike or not, you understand?" Ross dropped his hand to where hers fidgeted against her hip, pressing into her fresh through her skirts, and took hold of her hips in his large hands. "Shall we go upstairs, dear wife? It may do you some good to rest a while. Perhaps a bath?"

Demelza almost sighed at the prospect, before remembering her surroundings. "But Ross! What about supper––"

"We have a kitchen maid and...well, a Prudie, do we not?" Ross observed as her resolve wained, taking her cool hand and guiding her toward the stairs, smoothing his thumb over her knuckled each time she sighed out a tiny groan. 

Once in the sanctity of their bedchamber, Ross ridded himself of his cravat, pouring the hot water from the pitcher into the pail of cooler water, using his hand to mix the two. Demelza, uncomfortable to have Ross caring for her and not the other way around, busied herself with ridding herself of her working gown and then her shift, quickly hiding the towels used in her undergarments to soak up the blood underneath her discarded clothes. Stepping to his side, Ross stood and held his hand out to help her into the water, his eyes wondering appreciatively over her slim, pale form.

Kneeling behind her as she lay back in the bath, he kissed her temple and ear lightheartedly. "I love you." 

Demelza smiled happily, despite the aches that rolled through her, laying her hand over his on the edge of the bathing pail and giving it a grateful squeeze. "'ee love my  _cookin',_  that's what 'ee love."

Ross, delighted by the teasing, nipped at her earlobe before fitting his chin in the curve of her neck. As she went to massage her stomach again, he noted her face crumple in pain, a tear escaping her eye. Swallowing the tiny voice within him that told him he was swimming foolishly into unchartered territory, he brushed her hand out the way and pressed his strong, calloused fingers into the flesh just above her hipbones instead, beneath which was the origin of the ache. At the strong pressure of his fingers, Demelza let out an involuntary groan of appreciation, as his were much stronger than hers. As his fingers pressed deep into hips, his thumbs pressed with equal pressure into her lower back, causing Demelza to arch her back in relief.

"Oh, Ross," she breathed, her eyes closed in bliss, the pressure of his fingers a welcome distraction from the contact ache that made her want to pull her insides out. "'ee feels  _that_ good."

Ignoring the similarities of relief on his wife's body to that of arousal, and therefore what did to him, Ross smiled in satisfaction. "Good." Pausing to pour more water from the pitcher over her, he caught her eye and they shared kind smiles of companionship. 

"Who knew 'ee was so... _talented_ with 'ur hands..." She dragged the words out with mirth, her eyes dancing with the fire of Demelza The Siren, rather than the half he knew in the daytime. His mouth curled into his trademark crooked smirk exposing his shining teeth. 

" _My_ , Mistress Poldark," he whispered. "What a master of flattery you are." Under his masterful hands, she suddenly began to find ignoring the pain much easier. Suddenly, the heat of his body was _all_ she could think about. The pain seemed to shift from a shouting voice in her ear to a dull murmur in another room...

"Could 'ee perhaps...use them for...another purpose?"

At that, Ross barked out a laugh with his head thrown back, finding that his fingers did indeed find a new, for intimate, destination below the water. 

Taking in the transformed expression on her face, Ross nuzzled into her neck. "What a monster I have created."

With a delighted cackle, Demelza pulled at his shirt, enraptured with the reveal of each inch of his skin. As he lifted her from the bath, finally ridding himself of his clothes, Demelza lay on the feather mattress, hot and bothered and damp, admiring her husband and his physical prowess (most specifically, the glorious perfectly round globes of his buttocks, pale compared to his well-tanned back).

He turned, and in his way, cocked his head in false nonchalance, that same old smirk across his lips, his rumbling low voice inquired a dry "What?"  

She considered how they got here, about to... _be together_...(and it wasn't even sundown!) and suddenly could not suppress her cackles. 

"And...suddenly your flattery has dissipated, my love," he hummed, dryly. "What, dare I ask, is so humourous?" 

As she observed her beloved, nude, golden and taut with the effects of hard labour, his dark curls all in disarray, the pain within her paled into the background. Well, only proportionally. But...perhaps, if her husband would confront her some more, t'was not such a tribulation.

"I have never been that grateful for womanly aches before, 'tis all," she confessed, folding her arms behind her head to watch him in leisure. 

Ross Poldark grinned the size of Cornwall itself. (A sight so beautiful, and sometimes so rare, Demelza was sure she might go blind). "I cannot say I have either, my dear."


End file.
